


The Hourglass on the Table

by Joy_in_the_House



Series: One Foot Wrong, and I'm Going to Fall [4]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-17 04:24:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21260465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joy_in_the_House/pseuds/Joy_in_the_House
Summary: House reflects on the pieces he set in motion years ago, and the shattered pieces he picks up now.Emotional turmoil ensues.
Series: One Foot Wrong, and I'm Going to Fall [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514864
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	The Hourglass on the Table

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nia/gifts).

> For Nia.  
This was hard to write.  
Thank you @WinterJoy for beta'ing!

Was it silence when you lose someone?

Or was it fear, anger, depression, anything that you can feel to keep the utter _ despair _ at bay?

The mind played tricks. It always played tricks.

He couldn’t tell what was real; what wasn’t.

He stood up; his cane being the only pillar of support. 

He began walking, his team watching as he walked away.

He found himself on the balcony. The place where it started.

Leaning on the railing, he watched the busy hospital below.

He couldn’t think. He could only visualize how Wilson felt as he was shoved over.

He closed his eyes, heart squeezing painfully as he tried to imagine what Wilson felt as he was put on the hot seat for House’s sins.

Roman, the man who caused this, had come into the ER. He never found out what for.

He’d treated the man’s wife, Hanna Roman, twenty years ago, back when he was a lowly general practitioner straight out of medical school.

She had died, because of his mistake. He hasn't caught the embolism in time, and it had stopped her heart. 

The sheer amount of work the man must have gone through to track House down; and he had devastated House more than any other outcome could have done.

House knew. He _ knew _that this was his fault, as sure as he knew that Wilson's third wife had blamed House himself for the divorce.

The cane slipped from his hand and his weight was fully held by the railing. 

He didn't even realize he was shaking until his hand slipped off. He dropped to his knees; not even the electrifying jolt to his thigh cut through the heavy fog clouding his mind.

But the realization of his guilt did.

He'd killed Wilson.

As sure as he stood. 

The brain has certain failsafes that shield us from trauma by denying the events that led to it. This denial of trauma can lead to a false reality that the person then creates for themselves, often ignoring the problem at hand. 

As House knelt by the railing, he toyed with the idea of denial. The sheer gap in his psyche that the last hour had left played havoc.

He wasn't one for emotion. 

But for one moment he let the denial take over. 

James Wilson would come through the door, bickering with House before he had even entered the room.

He would smile at Thirteen, the first real smile she had gotten for the day from anyone, and certainly the first time she smiled back.

Foreman would summarize the day’s clinical trials with the others, giving Wilson deeper detail on the ones that included his patients.

Taub would pass Wilson a file of all the creative insults House had called the team and patients the previous day, and Wilson would smile indulgently.

Chase would clap Wilson on the shoulder as he entered, retreating to the chair furthest from the door, tossing playful comments as the others talked.

House would be insulting everyone within sight, and Wilson would interrupt him gleefully any chance he got.

"House!"

But that wasn’t reality. 

And thanks to his own shortcomings, he had set the pieces in motion years ago; long before House had bailed that young oncologist out of jail and struck up an unlikely friendship. 

If he hadn't put up bail, perhaps Wilson would've been bailed out by his ex-wife. Maybe they would never have met. 

Maybe then House's failings would never had fallen on the one he had called friend. 

"House!" 

His brooding was interrupted by Thirteen tumbling messily to the floor beside him, and he stared dumbly at the woman as she grabbed at his hands. 

He didn't even have the strength for anything sarcastic, and could only stare at her. 

"House," she choked out, something else he couldn't make out, and he was suddenly frightened by the tears on her face - the tears that if he had looked closer, matched the tears on his own. 

"I can't understand you," he told her, his voice weary and flat against her sudden sobs. 

She met his eyes, and for the first time House's heart jumped. 

"They got him back," she said quietly, and he blinked. 

_ Wilson wasn't dead. _

Without a word, he hauled himself to his feet, the cane forgotten. 

He had limped to the door of the cardiac ICU, using the wall as support. He threw himself into the room.

He got one glimpse of Wilson, who greeted him with a faint ghost of a grin on his lips and the rest of the smile in his brown eyes. 

Knowing Wilson was alive and in front of him, the adrenaline abruptly fizzled out as he surged forwards -

And folded to the floor, the relief and exhaustion colliding, missing the concern in Wilson's eyes, missing the words that the very much alive oncologist whispered out.

"I'm alright, House."

But in the split second before he had blacked out, he knew something. 

As sure as his name was Gregory House, Wilson wasn't dead, and it wasn't his fault. 

**Author's Note:**

> All the love.  
Let me know what you think!


End file.
